Britain ... - Blue-Lite

226 THE DEVOTED ONE. [Act V.
My my
ZANDAGAST.
A joyful death.
son ! son ! wait on thy midnight cloud
For me, thy father. See ! his shadowy form
In brightness comes. Give me, give me thy hand
Dear Ermingild, thou wilt not stay behind ?
I've lost thee now, sweet Waldimar, and all
Is utter darkness
ERMINGILD.
Tarry behind ? No, blessed martyr, thus
[Dies.
I bravely follow thee. [Attempts to stab herself.
CANUTE.
Disarm her quick !
Too much of blood hath been already spilt,
And I repent my fury spared him not.
[The Guards wrest the dagger from Ermingild.
ERMINGILD.
A fair reward, most Christian king, for all
His long-tried valour, never wanting found
His faithful services in field and council !
Mark ye, who there behold yon soldier lie
Welt 1
ring in his warm life-blood, this
ay, this
Is Christian gratitude and Christian meekness,
Ye who, with bloody zeal and murder, boast
A creed all love, all mercy, all forgiveness
To the most deadly foe ! Now, tyrant, call
Thy fell tormentors in : I long to die,
And since, beyond a certain point, frail nature
Must cease to endure, the more severe my pangs
The speedier my release.
CANUTE.
No : thou shalt find
That we, in cooler moments, can perform